For a future
by Cheekbonesandcoatcollar
Summary: Arthur does not cry for Merlin, does not allow himself to feel. To do so would be to acknowledge that this is all real. That Merlin is gone.  Character death with a happy end  A/M slash


**For a future- Arthur/Merlin Slash.**

**Summary:- Arthur does not cry for Merlin, does not allow himself to feel, because that would mean that this was all real. Merlin would be gone. (Character death with a happy end) A/M slash **

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**So, I wrote this listening to Breathing Space, a piano piece by X-ray dogs, on repeat at like 3am after the song popped into my head, followed swiftly by this little idea, apparently my muse does not want me to sleep. So, I hope you enjoy… I genuinely made myself sad writing this so let me know how it was! Thankyou! **

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Arthur does not cry for Merlin, he does not grieve, he does not feel anger or loss or pain. Arthur doesn't scream, or shout, or crumble, he doesn't beg the heavens above to _bring Merlin back_, nor does he dream of how things could have been, he does not comfort Gaius when the old man learns of what has transpired, he does not attend the services held by Merlin's mother back in Ealdor and he does not allow himself to acknowledge the sadness in Morgana's eyes, or the obvious tear tracks on Guinevere's cheeks, or the way Gaius seems to have no life left in him, nothing left to live for.

Arthur simply does not feel. Does not _allow_ himself to feel, because should he feel, should he cry, should he hold his sister as she grieved, should he acknowledge the sad silence that seemed to have taken residence within the castle walls then surely all of this would become _real_. Merlin would be _gone _and if Merlin was gone then there was no hope of Arthur waking to find that all of this was just an elaborate, horrible nightmare that his brain had concocted after one of Merlin's many accidents the previous day. Arthur didn't think he would be able to handle that.

So he did not let himself believe, he would not allow himself to hear the way the servants talked, wondering if this is how the castle was before Merlins arrival, so desolate and empty. He pretended not to hear when the elder servants reminisced about their little ball of sunshine with a smile to rival said sun itself ,who never failed to make more of a mess when he left than there had been before he had arrived. He would ignore the way the cook, an old lady, with great grandchildren in the city, would sometimes, out of habit place extra food on the future kings plate, just like the days when Merlin would steal chicken legs or rolls and eventually just like the days where they shared almost every meal, after, with a resolute roll of his eyes, Arthur had made the journey to the kitchens himself and bade the cook add more food to his servings, muttering something about a _bloody clumsy, thieving man servant with stupid ears _as he did so.

Arthur avoided Gwen. He knew this to be wrong, she was hurting and they were friends and he should, by rights, be there for her, after all, other than Arthur himself the only person Gwen really had was Merlin and Merlin was away so it was Arthur's duty really. Only he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to see her, to see the knowing in her eyes, to hear her words tainted with loss, to take the comfort she would inevitably offer, because she was just a good person like that. Besides Arthur did not need comfort, because he did not feel. If he saw Gwen in the halls he would busy himself with something, anything to make it look like he couldn't talk, and he resolutely ignored the knowing in her expression or the pity in her eyes. During meals, as Gwen served the uncharacteristically quiet Morgana, he would avoid eye contact and engage his father in deep conversation, though he could tell that sometimes even his father wondered, maybe he even worried. His children, after all, were changed. He did, however see when Gwen would go to Lancelot, where she would receive the comfort she craved, this made it a little better, if only because Arthur knew that his friend was not alone in her pain.

Arthur, worked his knights harder than he ever had, as if working them was a way for him to relieve frustration, only he found that it never worked. He found that when he watched a knight fall in sparring he simply thought of Merlin, falling, falling down. Once, as he helped Sir Leon from the ground and clasped an affectionate hand on his back, called him an idiot for tripping over something non existent, all he saw was Merlin, grinning back at him like a brainless fool and he could have sworn he heard his fond voice reply "Prat." Leon's concerned voice called after him as he sprinted to the place Merlin usually stood to watch him practice, laden down with armour and weapons, exasperated but still smiling, always smiling. "Merlin." he whispered as his eyes found nothing but air. He steadfastly ignored the way Leon, Ilyian, Percival, Gawaine and Lancelot, his friends more than his subjects, Merlin's friends, shot each other saddened, knowing glances when Arthur called practice to an end an hour early, suddenly so very exhausted.

He pretended not to understand Morganas intent every time she tried to coax him into a conversation about his former manservant, and he would out right ignore her if she mentioned that day, that hunt, that accident, that Arthur would not allow himself to remember, because if he could not recall it then it couldn't possibly be real right? There had been so many occasions he had sent Morgana angrily from his room, and waited, tense and tired for Merlin to come in and calm him down with some sort of anecdote or one of his many insults for the prince. He would pretend that he didn't feel wet pricking at the back of his eyes when this never happened. Merlin never could be trusted to be on time anyway, that's all it was.

It was only when Uther issued his son a new manservant that Arthur allowed himself to realise, the remember, to feel. To _grieve_. He had held out so long, stead fast in his belief that he didn't want or need a new servant because that was Merlin's job dammit, he was, contrary to popular belief, capable of taking care of himself, at least until Merlin was able to do it for him. Because Merlin had to do it, it was their destiny, there was so much more to come. So when he had arrived to his chambers, still firm in his beliefs, after a long day of avoidance and tasks that were so mundane without Merlin there to comment or argue with, to find a young servant, only a teenager, with brown hair a few shades too light and blue eyes that were too dark and ears that were- _normal_, who looked at him with an air of fear and utmost respect before bowing and greeting him with the proper etiquette, who had already completed all of the tasks that needed to be done without any orders to do so, who called him sire, who seemed able to do everything that Merlin had never been able to do, who was so out of place, so wrong, so not _Merlin_, Arthur finally allowed himself to feel. He had turned abruptly, fled, like he had been doing since the day Merlin had- died. Died, dead, just to think the word bought a burning to his throat and a wetness to his eyes that he could not bring himself to even try to fight back. He passed Morgana's room and found himself at the stair case that led to Gaiuses rooms, Merlins room. Inside, he barely remembered climbing up, or opening the door, he found Gaius, his drawn form, so much older than he remembered, whom he hadn't seen since the day he had carried Merlin, broken and bloodied back to Camelot, curled in a chair, sleeping soundly, as if he hadn't been able to for days and had only now succumb to the exhaustion, Arthur did not doubt for a second that this was true. Merlin had been everything to Gaius. Just like he had been to Arthur. The prince moved forward slowly, chest aching, limbs heavy and climbed the few steps to Merlin's own room, a room he had been in so many times before, when Merlin was ill or injured and recovering, when he had personally come to wake his servant whose job it was to wake _him_. The room was exactly as he remembered it, untouched, the pain too raw to even begin to be thinking about erasing Merlin, removing his touch, his presence. The bed was still unmade, wrinkled, cold, there were clothes strewn across the floor, shelves littered with books on everything from magic, of which Arthur had learned of Merlin's a long time ago, though of course he had never mentioned it, there was never a right or safe time to do so, to fairy tales and legends of old. He felt the first tear hit his cheek as he crouched to retrieve a crumpled shirt from the dusty floor, and brought it to his face, inhaling the barely there scent of Merlin. His tears felt like a betrayal, like he was letting go. Arthur knew he was not letting go, he never would. He moved to the bed, removed his shoes and jacket, how many times had he imagined this over the years? Imagined himself climbing into bed beside Merlin after an arduously long day and having his friend curl into his side, offering him warmth, relaxation and unyielding love. He lay his head on the rather hard pillow, face down, breathing deeply, imagining he lay against Merlin's chest and his nose were at the boys throat. He let go then, a sound, he had never before heard escape his lips burst forth, a broken sob, that continued over and over as he clutched Merlin's pillow to his face and cried until he could no longer smell him, could no longer sense anything of him in the room and everything just felt so wrong because Merlin should have been here now, should have been with him. It was their damned destiny, for Arthur to be king and Merlin to be there with him, he needed no damn prophecies of the likes he had read in Merlin's books one evening, to know that. Destiny, it seemed, had a funny way of failing people.

He shed more tears than he had known possible, tears for the loss that had been felt so keenly by everyone that had known, and consequently loved Merlin, for the mother- now alone in this world, for the old court physician who had given everything to his young apprentice, for everyone whose lives Merlin had touched in even a minutely small way, tears for the deep regret the prince felt for never allowing himself to touch, to feel. He shed tears for the future that would never be, in which Arthur ruled Camelot with a good heart and a full life with Merlin right there beside him, as his friend, his lover, confidant, as the court sorcerer, as his king. And he shed tears for himself, a half, as Merlin had once said in one of his cryptic rants, one side of a coin, this said with more sarcasm than the former, a half, a side, without the other. A half can never be a whole, one side can never be, without the other side. This existence, this life of pointless pleasantries and piteous looks meant nothing without Merlin, how could he possible conceive a future without his other half. There was just an emptiness. He was nothing without his ridiculous, clumsy, annoying, beautiful, wonderful, pain in the arse of a servant. And the worst thing, was that Arthur had never been able to tell him any of this. Merlin had left the world, alone, in a cold patch of muddy woodlands, in pain, bloodied and broken, without the knowledge that there was someone out there that would have gladly stepped up to take his place. Merlin had died alone.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

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When Arthur awoke the next morning, cheeks tight from dried up salty tears, eyes red rimmed, curled in Merlin's blanket, face pressed into the pillow, to Gaius standing above him with a confused expression on his wrinkled features, Arthur could not even bring himself to feel embarrassed. He wanted to apologize, explain, talk to Gaius about his feelings, about Merlin, find out things he hadn't known, instead he mumbled an, "I'm sorry," hoping that his eyes conveyed everything he was unable to say and left the room, gone in seconds.

This time, he did not miss the looks that were sent his way and had he seen Gwen or Morgana on his travels back to his chambers he would had spoken to them, told them everything, however, he made it back without a hitch and once inside did not see his new manservant, whose name he could not remember and who probably thought his new master was crazy and was almost definitely owed an apology, anywhere in site. He dropped his body into his seat by the unlit fire and allowed his eyes to close, he felt oddly light, still empty and drained, but strangely free.

It was hours later when the doors to his chambers slammed open, startling him from his reverie, "Arthur!" A breathless, but familiar voice cried from the doorway, a voice that he shouldn't be hearing, not now, not when he has finally come to terms with things. He can't bear to turn around. To turn and see nothing but air would hurt more than Arthur's initial acceptance. Arthur knew he couldn't handle that. Yet the door opening had sounded so real, and there, the door closing again, and Merlin's voice was babbling on and on- "Arthur! Thank the Gods! What happened to you? We were hunting and you drank the water, even though _I said not too_ and nothing happened for ages so we figured you were okay and then you disappeared in the night and we got back here as soon as we had finished searching for you around camp, how did you get back so fast? and I went straight to Gaius in case you were hurt and you would obviously be there and he said that he found you this morning asleep in my bed, my bed! And you'd run off and- Arthur? Are you okay?"

Arthur who had still not turned around swallowed thickly, "Merlin?"

"Arthur what's wrong?" Merlin's voice asked, uneven footsteps moving closer behind him, and then a hand on his shoulder and then Merlin stood before him, a perfectly clear apparition, eyes the bluest he had ever seen, hair unruly, skin pale and a little damp with sweat, panting and messy and so beautiful. He had to be real, alive, Arthurs imagination could not conjure up a touch that felt so real, that sparked through him the same as it always had when Merlin was alive. He is alive. "You're alive." The words were a mere whisper as they left him, a hand reaching to the servants face, a thumb stroking a prominent cheek bone.

"Of course I'm alive," pink lips replied questioningly, "you're the one that went running off. Don't you remember? We were hunting, me, you and a few knights there was-"

"A beast" Arthur continued, hands tracing his servants face gently, still unable to believe he was really there, scared to blink in case he disappeared again, "You fell. I couldn't reach you-"

Merlin's head shook, Arthurs hands moving with him, "No Arthur, there was a fountain, the water was enchanted, a hallucinogenic, those things you saw, none of it was real. I don't know how you got back here but you did, this is real now, the effects have obviously worn off."

Merlin's words were beautiful and Oh God, how he wanted to believe them.

"You were gone." he whispered, "You'd left me."

The ravens head shook again, "I'm here. I'm not leaving." The servants hand moved from his shoulder to his neck, to his hair, "See? Feel this? I'm here."

Arthur could only imagine how he must look, practically broken, awed by the sight of his servant, his friend, the man he loved, "You're really okay." he murmured, eyes searching every inch of the face before him as it nodded confirmation.

He moved forward slowly, giving the other every chance to move if he so wished before lips touched and he allowed himself to feel. It was everything and nothing and as they moved together he tried to say _I love you_, in every touch or kiss. In every caress of exposed skin inch by inch, one article of clothing at a time, in every glance and gasp and as Merlin moved beneath him, whispering his name, _Arthur, Arthur_, over and over. Arthur knew that he was saying it back, _I love you too_. It could have been that they were moving too fast, or that they had moved too slow, all things considered, but Arthur had felt how it had been to lose Merlin, the raw panic, emotion and overwhelming emptiness. As he lay there in the aftermath, the feeling of Merlin curled up beside him so real. He shed tears, tears for a future that had never been, for the hardest weeks of Arthur's life, that he had experienced in just a few hours and only in his mind, for a Merlin that had been lain to rest. And through those tears he smiled, for the Merlin beside him, for the life they would make, the destiny they would fulfil.

He moved, closer, and buried his face into the younger boys neck and collarbone, inhaling deeply, so _real_. The future would come tomorrow, and the days after, one day Arthur would inherit the throne and he would take Merlin with him, make him king, maybe chose Gwen and Lancelot's inevitable son as his successor, who knew? One day he would tell the world of his love, of Merlin's true power and potential. But until then, he had this, he had Merlin and Merlin was alive and for that small mercy, he would never stop thanking the Gods.

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**So, I don't know, maybe a little sickeningly sweet or OOC at the end- however to justify any OOC I think that even the most hardened or emotionless of men, when face with losing the one they love would suffer in some way- take Brian in QAF season 1 finale and I'm sure there are many others. Or perhaps OCC through the whole thing- for which I have no excuse. Hmmm, undecided, let me know? Thanks for reading!**


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